Funeral Pyre
Helen Powell confronts one final enemy amidst the Syndicate's fiery end. ---- Helen Powell braced herself against the nearest command console as another terrible shudder passed through the carrier. Out beyond the bridge viewport the entire shipyard-the immense crown jewel of the empire she'd so foolishly assumed was hers-was burning, explosions tearing through the orbital docks and the warships at berth. One such blast buffeted the carrier. The ship rumbled and shook with the death-spasms of a chained metal beast. But all Helen could do was focus on the very real beast standing in front of her. Stray trained the pistol at her forehead-a laughable gesture, considering the fiery fate rapidly approaching them both. "You're out of time," her brother observed. "Doesn't look like you can buy your way out of this one." Helen couldn't see his face behind that battered helmet, but the smirk she heard in his voice was a thousand times more insulting than his audacity in threatening her. "Why would I want to do that?" she demanded haughtily, drawing herself up and smoothing the wrinkles from her suit. "Who do you think set those charges in the first place?" Hopefully that was enough to wipe the smile off his unseen lips. At the very least it gave him pause. Stray cocked his head to one side, though the pistol didn't dip. "Huh. The Created and their utopia not working out for you?" "They sucked the life out of everything I'd built, along with the rest of this miserable galaxy." "That's rich, coming from you. I'll bet you were hoping to do the exact same thing when you sold out to them. You always were the biggest parasite, right at the heart of your precious Syndicate." "And what does that make you?" Helen spat, renewed fury coursing through her veins. She shouldn't have to stand here in her final moments, amidst the grand funeral pyre she'd constructed for herself, and be lectured by an animal like Stray. "Some jumped up mercenary at the bottom of the heap, always whoring for power on someone else's coattails. You say I sold out, but who haven't you betrayed at this point? You worked for the damn Covenant!" "Yeah, well, I gotta say you and yours just might be worse than them." Stray took a step forward. Helen glanced at his pistol, then the machete on his back. She'd never needed to fear threats like this before. Tatiana or another bodyguard was always there, ready to step in if things got out of hand. But now she was alone with Stray on the bridge of a dying warship, nothing left to stand between her and whatever vengeance he wanted to deal out. "I never saw any of them fucking each other over for a few extra credits." "You killed Tatiana, didn't you? Your own mother." "And you're just my half-sister. How do you think that makes your odds with me?" Stray's laugh was cut short by a fit of coughing that nearly doubled him over, rasping and hacking like a dog about to be sick. "From what I hear, you should be thanking me. Did it hurt when she stabbed you in the back?" "I can't say I was particularly surprised. You, Tatiana, Arthur... to think Lensky humiliated my mother for the likes of street trash like you." She paused. "I suppose it's too much to hope that you killed him as well?" He inclined his head ever so slightly. The confirmation was enough to sooth Helen's nerves. She relaxed against the command console even as another explosion tore through the docks. "I should have done them both in years ago." "Happy to oblige. God, I hated them both." "And so you're here to round out the set? You still have Arthur to take care of, I suppose." "I didn't even know we were related until a week ago. I could honestly care less about you. I’m just tying up loose ends. And you've got something I need." Stray lowered his pistol. "The codes to the Syndicate databanks. Lensky never coughed them up, but I know you have them." "And if I'd rather not hand them over?" The pistol muzzle pointed at her knees. "Then I drag you out of here and give you a taste of Syndicate persuasion. You ordered enough of it done on the frontier. Not quite as dignified a way to go as…" He gestured out at the burning dockyards. "Whatever the hell this is." Helen gave him a cool smile. She reached inside her pocket and retrieved a small data disk no larger than her fingernail. She held it out, forcing Stray to cross over to retrieve it himself. Even here at the end she knew better than to scurry over for an inferior. Helen dropped the data disk into Stray's outstretched hand, observing his battered armor with interest. "You're tenacious, I'll give you that. A shame I never knew we were related. Perhaps you'd have made a better guard dog than Tatiana." "Probably wouldn't have worked out for you." Stray slipped the disk into a pouch on his belt. "I've got a habit of biting the hand that feeds me." "And how do you know what I just gave you was even real? You didn't even check the contents." "You're burning down everything you built rather than let the Created have it. The way I see it, there's no better way to taint your digital treasure troves than let scum like me have it." He shrugged. "Besides, I checked the security logs before coming up here. I knew you had the data on you." "You're cleverer than I gave you credit for. A shame you never found a use for that beyond being a mercenary." "It suits my personality." He brushed past her and tapped into the command console. "Now get out of here." Helen blinked. "What?" "You want to die so badly, fine. There's plenty of standing room back on the docks. But I'm taking this crate out of here." "It's a carrier, not some Warthog. You'd need a full crew just to-" "Not really your problem, is it?" Stray took off his helmet and placed it on the console. In the flickering firelight Helen saw a flash of what his own deals with the devil had cost him. Scars pockmarked his ravaged face, a plasma burn twisting his lips into a permanent half-smirk. Perhaps he wanted her database to restore himself. But he was right-it really wasn't her concern anymore. "Do as you will." She strode away, across the bridge and towards the nearest airlock. "This whole galaxy's going to hell anyway." "We'll see." The last Helen saw of Stray was him standing before the command console, illuminated by the fiery conflagration outside. Helen Powell walked through the trembling station, heading towards her offices almost out of habit. Her Syndicate burned all around her, but in her mind's eye she could still see everything she'd built in all its pristine glory. She tried to think back to a time before all this-to when she was a girl, ignorant of crime and conspiracies and backroom deals. But it was a time that was lost to her, an innocence she'd gladly sold for a chance to be something more. Her office gave her a fantastic view of the dockyards as they ruptured and exploded. Good. Let it all burn. She leaned back at her desk and closed her eyes. She’d built all this, and now she destroyed it with a push of a button. The Created offered safety, stability, and prosperity. All they asked in return was submission. It was just too bad for them that it was one price Helen Powell was unwilling to pay. A sudden weight landed on her lap. Helen looked down in surprise to see Jokasta. The silver cat stared back at her, unblinking and somehow unperturbed by the distant explosions. A faint smile flickered across Helen’s face. “At least you didn’t betray me,” she murmured, taking the cat up in her arms. She pressed her face down into the purring creature’s fur, close enough that Jokasta’s comforting heartbeat drowned out the fire that was to come. Category:The Weekly